How To Train Your Drabbles
by E.Wills
Summary: This will be a vague description, but this is a compilation of some of my best canon-verse Hiccstrid drabbles from my Tumblr requests, spanning from the first movie to post-HTTYD2, and the years in between. These drabbles exist separately from my main AU/Deviation storyline.
1. Height Differences

**Author's Note: **All of these drabbles are requests I have fulfilled on Tumblr. I have compiled some of my best and decided to post them on this site. This is a request for Hiccup realizing he's taller than Astrid.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own How To Train Your Dragon.

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Hiccup trailed off mid-sentence, tilting his head to the side as he considered his girlfriend closely.

"What?" Astrid insisted, folding her arms across her chest.

It always put her on edge when he stared at her like that—like he had just uncovered some great secret about her that only he was privileged to know. Sometimes, he would answer her with a simple shrug and return to the task at hand without further explanation. She always grew more infuriated with each passing second her boyfriend remained intentionally mysterious. The small smile on his face was always an added annoyance, becoming more pronounced the more Astrid pressed him to be forthcoming. She suspected Hiccup was amused by her disgruntlement, and so she often rewarded him with a punch to the shoulder to communicate her exact feelings on being the butt of a one-sided joke.

"Hiccup, _what?_" she repeated emphatically, narrowing her eyes through a thin curtain of blonde bangs.

She fully anticipated another round of tight lips and hard jabs, but he surprised her. Brow furrowed thoughtfully, he reached out and gently gripped her by her arms—the feeling of his fingertips on her bare skin sent a pleasant bolt of heat racing throughout her entire body, making her lungs feel suddenly taxed, and increasing the cadence of her heart.

"I just…Can you stand up straight?" he asked, his intense stare lingering far too long for Astrid's comfort—his eyes were captivating and her mind wandered to places it had no business going.

Their close proximity was not making things any easier for her, either. It was so hard to focus—and to think she often teased him about his distractedness. The hypocrisy was glaringly evident as the physical space between them dwindled with every small step Hiccup took towards her.

"I _am_ standing up straight," she retorted impatiently.

Her gaze flitted about dangerously between his eyes and his mouth. She was not sure when it had happened—perhaps it had been a gradual development over the past months—but it was becoming harder to look directly at Hiccup for more than a few seconds.

Well, harder to look at him and maintain a more innocent state of mind, anyway.

"Hmm," he mused, standing so close that Astrid swore she could feel the body heat emanating from him.

She wanted to close her eyes and press into his warmth. They had hugged before, of course, but she craved a more meaningful kind of contact. It seemed needy and a bit desperate to admit, but Astrid wanted Hiccup to embrace her more possessively. She wanted to be held tighter, and to feel every inch of his slightly older, more masculine frame against her—clothed, of course. She was not completely indecent.

"I guess that settles it," Hiccup said—and dear Odin, he had leaned in much closer.

Astrid suddenly reconsidered her position on hugging. Clothing was totally optional.

"Settles what?" she murmured softly.

Hiccup's mouth was mere inches from hers, and she could feel his breath on her face. Her lips almost trembled with anticipation. As newcomers to the whole relationship game, Hiccup had not yet taken the initiative to kiss her first, and Astrid had never before realized how badly she wanted him to make a move. She could practically taste him, and she found herself tilting her chin upward in invitation.

His hand met the top of her head, and Astrid expected a gentle pressure to eagerly guide their lips together. She felt as though she was slowly stepping into a hot bath as a delicious heat worked its way up her body from the very tips of her toes. She was ready for him, and her fingers brushed the hem of his tunic, poised to pull him into her if he hesitated any longer…

But he just patted her head with a soft laugh—and she felt the tense bubble of desire rapidly deflating within her.

She stared back at him blankly, taken aback by the platonic gesture.

"I am taller than you!" he remarked brightly—there was not the faintest hint of arousal in his voice. "Well, I guess I can start paying you back for all those years of looking down on me—literally."

The flames of lust were instantly doused by an icy wave of embarrassment. Astrid felt incredibly foolish for the serious misinterpretation of Hiccup's intentions—for thinking he wanted to make out when he was just thrilled to have noticeably surpassed her in height. He continued to grin, clueless, and Astrid's embarrassment quickly morphed into frustration. How could he be that oblivious when she had nearly thrown herself at him? It was his problem, not hers.

Idiot.

He was an idiot—a skinny, freckle-faced, frequently preoccupied, dragon-obsessed idiot.

_And gods help him if he did not stop patting her head!_

She balled her hand into a fist and delivered a swift punch to his stomach, redirecting her humiliation. For a moment, she was afraid she might have hit him a little too hard as he doubled over, but the chuckles interspersed among wheezes betrayed him, and she could not spare him any sympathy—apparently, she had not socked him hard enough. Love had made her somewhat more considerate of his well-being.

"Laugh all you want, Haddock. I may be shorter now, but I can still take you down!"


	2. Protective

**Author's Note:** Stormfly has peculiar, and sometimes inconvenient, nest habits.

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Stormfly fidgeted anxiously, watching the two bodies moving in tandem in the shade of the trees, wrapped tightly around one another. Astrid was on her back with the Night Fury's rider lying on top of her. Whatever they were doing, they seemed to be struggling. The Nadder's superior sense of smell detected sweat and something else—something desperate and urgent emitted by both of the young Vikings. She could hear their ragged breathing, and her human's soft whines with every move the young man made on top of her. It was confusing, as the excitement in the air mounted. There was a palpable tension the young Vikings were chasing. Stormfly did not know what to make of it, but it assaulted her senses and lingered thickly all around her with unsettling persistence.

"Hiccup! Yes! _Ohhh_," Astrid moaned, arching up as her chest heaved.

Stormfly recognized an increase in octave that, to her knowledge, clearly indicated distress. She could stand it no longer. The humans needed help, and she would have to aid them alone. The Night Fury was not helpful, curled up with his head on his claws, appearing rather uninterested in the whole scene. No amount of concerned squawking could rouse the black dragon to action.

Stormfly flapped her wings furiously, taking flight in a low hover. She positioned herself over the two Vikings, intending to shield them from whatever strange affliction ailed them.

"Hiccup—_Hiccup!_" Astrid exclaimed in alarm as she spotted Stormfly closing in.

The wide eyes were unnecessary. Astrid should have known Stormfly would protect her, like she always did. Her Viking had nothing more to fear. No further harm would befall the two young riders as long as a Nadder was present to watch over them both—since, apparently, the Night Fury was useless.

The humans roughly pushed apart, scrambling with their clothes as Stormfly extended her talons. They seemed more upset than when they had been entwined and panting, but their woes would soon be over. Stormfly gripped the young man by his shoulders and pushed him down on top of her human, nestling on both of the Vikings protectively, extending her wings around them. She heard them give one last groan each before silence befell them, and Stormfly knew her job was done. They were safe and at peace.

"Astrid..." the Night Fury's human sighed heavily.

Stormfly heard her rider laugh, which was contagious, as soon both Vikings were laughing. Stormfly could feel the vibrations of their mirth beneath her, and she sensed the amusement rising up to meet her. She was satisfied.

A Deadly Nadder was always loyal, never hesitating to do its protective duty.


	3. Sick Day

**Author's Note:** Chief Hiccup won't take a sick day.

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Astrid could not watch Hiccup suffer any longer. His incessant sniffling and hacking cough were bad enough to have listened to for the past hour, but her tolerance ended with the physical symptoms. That bleary-eyed look, and the way he massaged his sore throat, grimacing with every swallow, was just pitiful. He had a pounding headache—or so he had told her—and the congestion made his voice nasally to an almost laughable extent. It was as if he was walking around in a fog, but the common cold could not stop him from fulfilling his responsibilities to Berk. He was nothing if not tenacious, glancing over the storehouse inventory, though his gaze was fixed on the same line. His eyelids began to droop.

"You should go to bed," Astrid said firmly, snatching the parchment from his hands.

Hiccup blinked in surprise, staring down at his empty hands. His reflexes were a bit slower when he was sick.

"It's the middle of the day," he replied. He turned away quickly to cough into his elbow before continuing the conversation as though nothing was wrong. "I have a list of things to do before sundown."

"Staring at the same item on the storehouse inventory is hardly productive," Astrid remarked, waving the rolled up parchment around for emphasis. "You need sleep, Hiccup. It will help you get better."

"I'm the chief. I don't get a sick day," he argued. He sounded less commanding between sniffles.

"There's nothing of vital importance on that to-do list of yours," Astrid retorted. "I should know. I wrote it for you."

"I'm not a total invalid—"

"Hiccup. _Delegate_."

He gave an exasperated sigh, but just Astrid folded her arms impatiently and waited. She would not relent. His health mattered more than the daily chores of village upkeep. While it was true they needed to be done, Hiccup stubbornly insisted on doing much of it himself, though there were plenty of capable Viking to take on some of the responsibility. He liked to micromanage too much as a new chief—a result of his lingering insecurities.

"Astrid, I'll be fine," he insisted. "It's just a cold."

"Well, may I be honest with my chief?" Astrid inquired.

"By all means."

"You look like crap," she said bluntly, "which is only marginally better than how you sound."

He ran his fingers through his hair wearily before he was struck with another coughing fit. Each round of hacking seemed to drain him of his waning energy.

"Fine," he yielded. "Have Fishlegs take inventory. I suppose the two of you can divide up the rest of the work amongst yourselves."

Astrid shook her head and replied, "No. It will have to be Fishlegs and Snotlout. I can't do that."

Hiccup gazed back at her, dully. He was miserable.

"Why not?" he asked, brow furrowed over exhausted green eyes.

"Because someone has to take care of your skinny ass, obviously," she answered. "You can't be trusted to do it."

"Mom—"

"You really want her to nurse you back to health? I mean, I know she's your mom and everything, but even her simple broth could choke a dragon."

He pressed a hand to his forehead, breathing deeply through his mouth—his runny nose was useless.

"So, what's my other option?" he asked.

"Let me take care of you, and we'll spend the rest of the day wrapped up in bed as you sleep. No strange remedies. No stress. Just you, me, some herbal brew, and a long nap."

"I think I like the sound of that…but what happens when you come down with whatever it is that I have?"

Astrid folded her arms across her chest with an expression of false severity.

"Then I guess you'll just have to take care of me," she said, punctuating her statement with a genuinely warm smile. "I expect a copious amount of cuddling, too. None of that halfhearted stuff."

"Well…I guess it's only fair."

His faint smile brought a glimmer of vitality back to his tired eyes.


	4. The Parenting Thing

**Author's Note: **Hiccup and Astrid have a fight. Valka attempts to smooth things over.

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Valka wanted to stay out if it, but muffled voices grew louder as angry footsteps paced heavily above her. It was difficult not to eavesdrop when objects were thrown and the occasional profanity was distinguishable from the second floor.

That was Astrid, no doubt.

It had not taken very long to figure out the blonde's outspoken and headstrong nature. She was of a more aggressive temperament than most, but Hiccup seemed to have inherited his father's weakness for a bold woman.

Valka tried to give the young couple their distance, which was a challenge with an adult son as a housemate. The less she knew and the less she overheard, the more she could remain blissfully ignorant of what Hiccup and Astrid did behind closed doors. She, naturally, had made her assumptions from all of the late night visits and the hushed voices in her presence. She could not bring herself to say anything, though. She had waived any right to maternal judgment and disapproval with her twenty-year absence. She bit back her criticisms and turned a blind eye, pretending not to notice how intimate they were—or rather, how intimate she believed them to be.

Granted, it was a much harder thing to ignore when an argument escalated into a shouting match. Harsh words cut through any attempt to block them out, and hurtfully sarcastic comebacks held Valka's attention, making it near impossible to distract herself with anything else.

Two individuals raced down the stairs amid a volley of accusations and blame. The fighting penetrated the walls with ringing clarity.

Astrid just wanted to feel more appreciated—to have a little bit more of his damn time! Gods knew how he could manage to allocate it to just about everything else. But Hiccup had responsibilities, Thor, damn it! It was not his fault that she never seemed satisfied. What more did she want from him, anyway? Everything, apparently. Astrid Hofferson wanted everything, as far as Hiccup was concerned—but she disagreed, called him a self-righteous ass, and was confident her life would be far less troublesome without him in it. He told her he did not care—that he was not holding her captive. She was free to leave, and he would very much appreciate it if she did. She was upsetting his dragons.

The front door slammed shut and a heavy silence filled the house. Valka knew she should keep to herself, but Hiccup was her son. Her poor choices and the two subsequent decades that followed had not changed that. She was still a mother. She had always been a mother—his mother, and he was upset. Those deeply rooted instincts could not be ignored.

As she approached him, he glanced over his shoulder from where he had practically been glaring a hole in the door. His expression softened when he saw her, before shame overtook him upon realizing she had heard everything.

In all honesty, she did not know what to say to him to make things any better. She was out of practice. She did not know if her advice on relationships was wanted, or even appropriate. Still, she felt something needed to be said and so she spoke openly, without much forethought. Most decisions she made were impulsive, driven by the heart and gut instinct—why should significant conversations with her son be any different?

"She loves you," Valka said.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure we almost broke up just now—or maybe we actually did break up and I'm just fooling myself?" Hiccup replied, flatly.

"She wouldn't be so furious if she didn't care for you."

"Except she's Astrid, and I'm pretty sure that she would."

His tone was sarcastic, but the hurt in his eyes was genuine. Valka reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder sympathetically.

"When I married your father, he had been the chief for a while. He was already so organized, and self-assured in his duties to Berk, but it was still an adjustment for me, then—sharing my husband with the entire village, and knowing I was not always his top priority. Your father had to learn to show me that I mattered."

Hiccup glanced down at the floor with pursed lips. Talk of Stoick still hurt him, but he needed to understand.

"Astrid is struggling with the same realization, just as you are struggling to balance your many responsibilities—am I wrong?"

"No," he muttered.

"Is she important to you?" Valka asked.

Hiccup finally met her gaze. His green eyes were resolute. He showed the most conviction when speaking of dragons, Berk, or his feelings for Astrid.

"More than anything else," he answered.

"I imagine, if you show her that, she will show you that you are worth the patience—just as I came to know your father was," Valka explained.

Hiccup became deeply pensive as he pieced the solution together in his mind. Valka could not help but smile at how similarly they wore their emotions. It was the many small traits and mannerisms that frequently reminded her how closely her boy resembled her.  
When he spoke again, he sounded confident, as if he had made up his mind.

"Thanks, mom," he said. "I will try to remember that."

He left the house without further delay. He did not say where he was going—a chief did not need to offer an explanation—but Valka was certain she would find him wherever Astrid was.

"Well, Stoick," Valka murmured aloud, "it's nice to know we still have something to teach him."

She placed a hand fondly on the wall her husband had crafted. In all actuality, the original beams were long gone. They had probably not survived more than a couple dragon raids after Cloudjumper had taken her.

She sighed in bittersweet reflection, remembering how Stoick's face lit up with excitement as he carried her, laughing, over the threshold despite her protests. Then came the affection in his eyes as she gazed up at him in amazement at the gorgeous home he had built out of the deepest love for her. He had gone from the world far too soon, and her heart ached for him, but her memories kept her from feeling completely alone.

The next morning, she witnessed the result of her meddling when Hiccup leaned down to kiss Astrid from atop his Night Fury. He likely had a long list of chiefly business to attend to, but he kept Toothless on the ground until the blonde reluctantly released him to the rest of the village. The two lovers exchanged warm smiles before Hiccup took to the sky, leaving Astrid behind glowing with adoration.

Perhaps Valka could figure out the whole "parenting thing" as long as she had Stoick to guide her from Valhalla. After all, he was not truly gone—not entirely. Beside his watchful stone likeness, she felt his presence elsewhere and they were still united in love.

He was still there, all around her—in her soul, in that house…in their son.


	5. Love Bites

**Author's Note:** Hiccup's new love bit is a little conspicuous.

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"Must you always be so aggressive?" Hiccup muttered as Astrid led Stormfly back to her stall.

She glanced over her shoulder at him with a smug grin. The impish gleam in her blue eyes, peering out from beneath her fur hood, would have been enticing if he was not already so exasperated.

She reached up and uncovered her head, saying, "You weren't exactly complaining at the time."

He did not quite meet her gaze as images of their most recent intimate experience flashed in his mind. What was meant to be a simple flight around the island quickly became a far less innocent affair. Astrid had suggested all the things she might do to him upon returning to the village, and suddenly, flying astride Toothless was very, _very_ uncomfortable.

He landed among the trees with Astrid close behind. What happened next was a flurry of sensation as nimble fingers impatiently shoved clothing out of the way, and hands and teeth met every bit of bare skin they could reach. It was rough and passionate, like Astrid herself, and Hiccup could not deny the added burst of pleasure that rippled through every nerve when she bit down on the sensitive flesh of his neck. It hurt, but in a manner that was strangely appealing, that he enjoyed, and Odin help him, he actually wanted.

"No, I didn't complain," he agreed, "but that was before I thought about how I was going to explain this."

He pointed to a reddish discoloration just above the collar of his riding leather, frowning as he inspected it in a polished, decorative metal shield hanging on the wall.

"It's not that bad," Astrid said dismissively, unstrapping her Nadder's saddle.

"It's not exactly subtle, either," he replied flatly. "I thought we were trying to be discreet—"

"Hiccup, stop worrying. No one's going to notice. No one is going to say anything."

* * *

"There. It's right there. Do you see it?" Ruffnut asked Snotlout and Fishlegs as they mucked out their dragons' stalls.

"Maybe there's a rational explanation—" Fishlegs began.

"Yeah. They've been fucking," Snotlout interrupted. "There's your rational explanation."

Fishelgs turned a brilliant shade of pink and stared determinedly at the ground while he raked out Meatlug's waste.

"Well, why don't you go ask them if you're so curious?" Tuffnut inquired, nudging his sister encouragingly.

Ruffnut cast Astrid a wary glance and answered, "I'm not in the mood to be punched in the face."

Tuffnut gazed back at her skeptically and retorted, "Since when?"

"I'll go," Snotlout volunteered, dropping his rake dramatically.

He knew that prying into the lovers' personal business would likely incur Astrid's wrath, but he could not pass up the opportunity to make his cousin uncomfortable. The fact he and Hiccup were on friendlier terms in recent months did not diminish the entertainment value of seeing the other young man so flustered.

He quicky strode across the communal stables, hearing the twins cackle behind him. Fishelgs only raked faster.

"Hey, cuz!" Snotlout said brightly as he approached Hiccup and Astrid.

Predictably, the blonde narrowed her eyes at him, but Snotlout was used her criticism—he was nonplussed.

"Have a nice flight?" he asked Hiccup, who appeared significantly less annoyed to see him.

"Yes, why?" his cousin answered, quirking an eyebrow.

"Exciting?" Snotlout probed further, nodding at the mark on Hiccup's neck.

Reflexively, Hiccup clapped his hand over the obvious bruise, instantly defensive.

"No, not particularly," he replied, firmly.

"_Really?_"

"Really. It was pretty uneventful."

Astrid made an odd noise, like a choked giggle, before coughing into her hand. She avoided eye contact with her boyfriend, but Snotlout caught the slight upturn of her lips as she fought the urge to grin.

"How do you manage an injury like that on the back of a dragon?" Snotlout asked.

"I—I don't…I…a bee sting, maybe?" Hiccup answered, growing more irritable by the second.

"A bee sting? But you don't remember—?"

"Is there a _point_ to this interrogation, Snotlout?"

"No. Not particularly," Snotlout replied, leaving Hiccup both perturbed and bewildered.

He turned back to the other riders, feeling rather pleased with himself. Even small victories over his cousin were few and far between, and so he cherished such moments. He returned to the twins with a satisfied smirk.

"Well?" Ruffnut asked eagerly.

"In my expert opinion—"

"Expert?" Fishlegs snorted incredulously, though he otherwise feigned disinterest in the conversation.

"Hiccup likes it a little rough."

Fishlegs turned a deeper shade of red while Ruffnut whooped triumphantly.

"HA!" she exclaimed, turning to her brother. "Pay up!"

Reluctantly, Tuffnut tipped a piece of hack silver into her outstretched palm.


	6. It's About Time

**Author's Note:** Stoick discovers Hiccup and Astrid are dating.

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In hindsight, it probably had not been the wisest decision to make out in the communal stables. Logic dictated that anyone could have walked in on them, but rationality often took a nosedive where raging teenage hormones were concerned. Weak justifications overtook common sense, supporting otherwise imprudent behavior.

Berk was caught in the middle of a torrential downpour, and Hiccup took only a second to reason that very few of his tribesmen would be insane enough to brave the frigid deluge before he and Astrid were wrapped around one another, soaked to the bone, yet thoroughly warmed by the heat of mutual arousal.

Astrid whimpered, barely audible, as Hiccup slid his tongue into her mouth. Her hands grasped desperately at his flying leather as she pressed her chest into his, seeking some kind of friction. Hiccup cursed the layers between their skin, keenly aware that Astrid's bare breasts were so tantalizingly close, separated from him by thin fabric, though he had not yet experienced the sweet delight of feeling them with his fingertips. It was hard to think of anything else as Astrid's tongue battled his—flicking and stroking challengingly. He tugged at her tunic, hoping that it was finally the afternoon she would let the last of her scruples slip away, allowing him to make love to her as he had so often fantasized. He wanted nothing more—nothing else could possibly be as incredible. The way Astrid rubbed up against him…she had to be wanting him, too. They had come close so many times before, and there, in the stables, they had the opportunity—alone, except for the uninterested dragons that—

_"A-hem!"_

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Hiccup and Astrid froze in horror. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, hoping for the briefest moment they had imagined the sound.

They had not.

"What do the two of yeh think yer doin?" came a familiar voice that made Hiccup instantly defensive.

He and Astrid pushed apart, straightening out their hair and clothing, though it did them little good. There was no denying what they had just been up to.

"H-hey dad," Hiccup said, with a nervous grin. "H-How long have you, uhh…you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Stoick the Vast replied, striding over to them with narrowed eyes.

If the gods had any mercy at all, they would have struck Hiccup dead—but he suspected his torment was their amusement.

Astrid was staring at the ceiling, absentmindedly stroking her braid, though all the strands were still neatly woven in place.

"How long has this been goin' on?" Stoick demanded, gesturing between the both of them.

"Oh, uh…well, we sort of…just got back from a flight so…two…three minutes, tops?" Hiccup answered, ruffling his hair sheepishly as his ears burned with embarrassment.

"No, _not the_—I meant the two of yeh, together," Stoick clarified, impatiently.

"Uhh…" Hiccup cast a sidelong glance at Astrid, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet anxiously, looking everywhere but him or his father.

"Maybe a few months?" she offered, trying to keep her voice casual, though there was a slight tremor in it.

"Y-yeah. A few months. That sounds right," Hiccup said, glancing up hesitantly, awaiting further reprimand.

Was his father going to tell Astrid's father? Odin, help him. The man would kill him, and Hiccup had been looking forward to turning nineteen—celebrating it with his girlfriend…

His father towered over them both with the familiar scrutinizing scowl that Hiccup was certain he had been born with. It seemed to come to him naturally enough.

Stoick reached past them and pulled his saddle from the wall without another word. He lingered for another moment, considering them carefully and likely thinking up his most scathing rebuke of their impetuousness. As he inhaled, Hiccup flinched, anticipating the stern scolding, but it did not come.

Instead, it was, "A few months, eh? Well…it's about time, isn't it?"

Hiccup stared back at him incredulously, hardly daring to believe he heard correctly, but he could detect traces of a grin beneath that great, red beard. As Stoick turned for Skullcrusher's stall, he added one last thing for his son's maximum discomfort.

"Certainly took yeh long enough."

Astrid stared at Hiccup, bewildered, but he was at a loss for his father's rather unpredictable behavior. He could only reason his father had two simple pleasures in life—running Berk, and making him squirm with embarrassment. Poor Astrid was just collateral damage in his unorthodox manner of parenting.


	7. Reeling

Astrid had long since given up on trying to understand the utility of a lot of Hiccup's inventions. Toothless' tail was obviously necessary, and designs he had drafted with Gobber for village improvements made sense, but any tinkering in the forge for personal pleasure often yielded stranger results–hybrids between genius and utter lunacy.

At first glance, his Gronckle-iron shield seemed perfectly reasonable. For someone so accident-prone and apt to attracting unwanted attention from their enemies, a defensive item was prudent. Plated with nearly indestructible metal and convertible into a crossbow, Astrid would have been envious of his shield–until she discovered the superfluous additions, like a miniature catapult and a grappling line. Both, Hiccup insisted, had uses.

It irritated her to watch him handle thing, proud of its complexity that made complete sense to him. _Only _him. It was annoying, not because she had a burning need to know how the shield worked, but because she wanted to know how Hiccup worked–to understand him in all his brilliance and insanity. _What_ made him think a multi-purpose shield was necessary? _How_ did intricate designs form in his head? _Why _did his unique blend of creativity and madness intrigue her so?

At least one of those questions was more easily answered.

She studied him as they walked together, leaving the academy when the day's lesson ended. Hiccup was fussing with his shield, brow furrowed intently as he ran his fingers along the metal rim where it curved back over the wooden base structure. His eyes widened when he accidentally tripped the catapult, and it sprung to life with a faint twang. Thankfully, it lacked ammunition.

"I guess the trigger's still a little sensitive," he told her with a sheepish grin. "I'm going to have to tweak that."

Astrid did not know why he still got so flustered around her. His inventions were clearly impressive, whether or not every aspect made sense. Her opinion should have counted for very little, yet he was always so mindful of what she thought–not that it deterred her from brutal honesty to spare his feelings.

"What could you possibly need a built-in catapult for?" she asked skeptically. "It seems kind of pointless to me."

He frowned at her criticism, but it did not give her pause. She was eager to pick apart his thought process–to make his brain less of a mystery.

"So the shield can function both defensively_ and _offensively," he replied, resetting the catapult. It was a very logical answer, but there was still something lacking conceptually.

"I thought that's why it's also a crossbow," she commented–a design element that was admittedly clever.

"Yes, but if I don't have the time to convert it in battle, the catapult acts as a second form of attack."

"With such a limited range? Your enemy would have to be close, and I would think you'd be too busy using it as the shield it was intended to be. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"Maybe it does," he conceded with a sigh. He pursed his lips, eyes downcast as he mulled over her words. "You know more about combat than I do, but I doesn't really hurt to be prepared for any situation, right?"

She supposed it was unsurprising that he would have thought to include features that were useless except under a very specific set of circumstances. He _did_ have an aptitude for getting into unusual predicaments. Perhaps that made him a bit paranoid? She could see that–one step closer to having him all figured out.

"Oh, well in that case, why don't you go all out and install some kind of flammable projectile?" she retorted, rolling her eyes. Hiccup opened his mouth, probably to reject the idea at first, but he quickly closed it, quirking an eyebrow as he glanced skyward, considering the possibilities. She could practically see his brain fast at work, piecing together a vague concept he would hurry off to sketch. She punched him lightly in the shoulder for daring to take her sarcastic quip seriously. "Don't. I was only joking. No, seriously. Hiccup,_ don't._"

He smiled and Astrid felt her own lips quirk, finding his warmheartedness highly contagious. She was not used to compulsive grinning, at least, not around anyone else she knew. There was just something about that dorky gap in Hiccup's teeth and the way his smile reached his eyes, especially whenever he was looking at her. It was like his entire being brightened up when they were together, and Astrid found herself fascinated by it–another puzzle she had yet to complete. With Hiccup, she had many fragments and half-pictures of who he was, and how he felt. She knew he was attracted to her, drawn to her by something stronger than friendship, but she did not know how deep those feelings went. Maybe as deep as her own, and maybe not. She could always ask, but there was no way to pose the question without seeming too eager–too exposed. She was not yet ready to have that conversation–to toss around that weighty, significant word that might change whatever vague happiness existed between them. No, she preferred to collect one piece of him at a time.

So, she asked badgering questions like, "Why a grappling line, too? I suppose for some other completely ludicrous scenario you've imagined in that crazy head of yours? Some wild situation where you need to pull your enemies toward you, instead of repelling them?" Her hands were on her hips, and she took a couple of paces while Hiccup paused, considering her with his head slightly cocked to one side.

"Who said it was just for my enemies?" he replied.

"Oh, what? You're going to reel in Toothless if he gets too unruly?" she retorted with a laugh in her voice.

"Maybe not Toothless, but someone lighter," he answered with a shrug, his unburdened hand slipping behind the shield.

Before Astrid could mock him further, the grappling line shot out from his shield's center hub, wrapping tightly around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She let out a startled gasp, and tried briefly to struggle, flexing her arms beneath the tight cord, only to realize it was pointless. She was effectively immobilized and wholly indignant.

"Hiccup!" she snarled. "Let me go, you–!"

She felt the sharp tug as the line retracted, pulling her helplessly along despite the way she firmly dug her heels into the ground. Her boots were scuffed and caked with dirt, and she glared at Hiccup, wishing her arms were free to throttle him. She had definitely been reeled in close enough to do so. Her chest and abdomen were pressed firmly against cold Gronckle-iron, which she could feel through her tunic, and Hiccup held the shield close to his own body. The two of them stood impossibly close. Astrid was nearly on his feet–flesh and prosthetic, but he was unconcerned. Had they had all evening–and had she not wanted to break free and pummel him–she could have counted all of the freckles on his face. He was not smug about ensnaring her, though. Instead, he gazed at her with a softness that made her palms a little sweaty and her heart skip a beat.

"I guess you've made your point," she grumbled, wriggling. "Though, I'm not sure what it is, exactly. I still don't see how this helps you achieve any–_mmphf!_"

Hiccup interrupted her budding tirade with a sudden kiss, gentle and uncertain in the way his lips molded over hers. He held it for a moment, neither withdrawing from her, nor deepening it. Neither one of them moved, and neither one of them breathed. Every muscle in Astrid's body tensed, and she was amazed they could not hear her furious heartbeat rattling against the shield. Her face flushed, and she wondered if Hiccup could feel the heat she radiated, so uncharacteristically ruffled. Her lungs protested the lack of air, but she did not dare inhale until he pulled away, slowly. Astrid felt the line around her slacken as he released the tension, but she did not step back, even as the rope coiled on the ground around her feet. Hiccup lowered the shield, and the only barrier between their bodies was the few inches it would have taken to press into one another, like the small voice in Astrid's head urged her to do.

"Was…was that alright?" Hiccup asked. His voice was barely above a murmur, but it sounded so loud and clear in the silence around them, accompanied by the nervous drumming of his fingers against the rim of his shield.

Green eyes searched her face, analyzing micro-expressions that might suggest she felt scandalized by his was the first kiss Hiccup had ever initiated, and it had been as insecure, awkward, and completely endearing as he was. She was far from offended, though she had been caught off-guard. On the contrary, her lips still tingled with the need to feel that warmth.

"It was okay," she replied casually, "but I think you can do better…"

He breathed a sigh of relief, glossing over her playful jab, preoccupied with the idea of kissing her again. There was less hesitation and more enthusiasm as he pressed his lips to hers, with more confidence. Astrid relaxed that time, melding her body into his as the shield rested idly by his side, snugly fitted to his right arm. Perhaps, as her fingers curled in his other sleeve, she could admit to grappling line _did _have its uses–circumstances where it was perfectly acceptable, even if a bit silly. If nothing else, it had help her uncover another piece of him, peeling back the layers of his feelings for her. One more way in which could better understand his inner-workings.

The catapult, however, was still ridiculous.


	8. Powerstrid

Fishlegs stood back with the Snotlout and the twins. He tentatively readied his dragon, but he felt an underlying futility in it. His thick fingers moved slowly over his Gronckle's bumps and ridges, feeling like the pair of them were superfluous muscle in an impromptu show of force. Meatlug gazed at him expectantly, awaiting his direction. While usually docile, there was a power underneath her sluggish appearance. Dragons were impressive in their own right, only made more formidable by the resolve of their riders.

* * *

They were all to send a message–intimidate the Berserker armada and weaken enemy morale. There would be a chorus of groaning leather and rattling armor as their adversaries quaked where they stood, trying to hold fast to their nerve among the storm of expletives their chief shouted at the sky. Undoubtedly, Dagur would not hesitate in his offensive, but the young dragon riders knew how to draw his fire and delay the onslaught long enough for Berk to rally a defense. It was not a new practice–Dagur was merely an old sore, freshly irritated after years of festering in some unknown hovel.

But Fishlegs did not know what good he would do. Hel, he did no know what good Snotlout or the twins would do, either. Suppressive fire would help, of course, but there were no two riders more accomplished at putting the fear of the gods into their enemies than Hiccup and Astrid. Their fierce dragons, both fast and deadly, were like phantoms in the fog of war. The Berserkers knew it, targeting them with extreme prejudice, further incurring Nadder and Night Fury counter-strikes. It was terrifying to their foes, and awe-inspiring to their allies in a fearsome way. Fishlegs was glad to be on the winning side, flying with Astrid and Hiccup, instead of against them.

He was watching the couple then, making ready for battle with an air of ferocity that made him wary to do anything but fade into the periphery.

"Dagur's still far enough out that we can buy time for everyone else to visit the armory and saddle their dragons," Hiccup said calmly, and Astrid nodded. There was a fire raging in his eyes that did not match the placidity of his tone. It was not the friendly warmth that Fishlegs was accustomed to, but a burning will to protect their homes and their dragons.

Astrid mirrored that grit and heat, and their indomitable energy mingled and multiplied in the air between them, building and feeding off one another's spirit.

"We'll scatter them," she replied confidently, eyes flickering to his for only a moment, exuding unshakeable faith in their combined abilities. Her support and conviction visibly embolden Hiccup every time.

She held his arm close to her chest, fastidiously applying his vambrace while he held her battle axe in his other, already armored hand. He glanced it over, testing its weight and balance while her hurried fingers finished their work. It was with such an effortlessness that Fishlegs suspected she had done it many times before–as accomplished in fastening his armor as she likely was at removing it.

Toothless and Stormfly fidgeted eagerly on the cliff's edge overlooking the rolling sea and the distant mass of Berserker ships. They took cues from their riders, sensing the mounting aggression. They were prepared to dole out punishment to anyone deemed a threat to their Viking counterparts, under the command of Hiccup and Astrid. Their claws dug into the dirt and the grass, gouging deep groves as they flexed their muscles. Meatlug, Hookfang, and Barf and Belch responded to the vibe hanging thickly around them, shifting their bulk and stretching their wings–even amongst the dragons, there was a definite pecking order when it came to such things, and Toothless and Stormfly usually held sway over the others. It was understandable, considering how Hiccup and Astrid held sway over the other riders whenever they were liked that–standing united and resolute.

"Dagur is going to use his archers and grappling nets against our dragons. He wants to take us down, and the more we evade him, the more desperately he'll command his men to fire at us," Hiccup explained to the rest of them. He held out Astrid's axe blindly, and she took it without hesitation–a wonderfully synchronized movement requiring no thought.

"We need to exhaust as much of their resources as possible before our reinforcements get there. We were the ones that spotted Dagur, so let's do our part to delay and weaken him," Astrid added, and Hiccup nodded faintly in agreement, as she had done for him. It was as if they were of the same mind, sharing one single stream of consciousness. "You can't deny we're Berk's greatest assets and the most experienced in this kind of thing."

"Think we can manage it?" they asked in unison, but they did not crack even the smallest grins at the ridiculousness of it. Their stone-faced determination was sobering, and the Thorston twins could not find a joke to cut the heavy atmosphere. Hiccup and Astrid did not seem receptive to humor at the moment. They had one focus–stop Dagur. Fishlegs did not think it wise to hinder them.

"Sure. Don't we always?" Snotlout replied rhetorically–as if anyone would have voiced their doubts.

Astrid turned to Hiccup, and when they addressed each other, it was as if everyone else dissolved into nonexistence. That was normal for them, but under more romantic circumstances. Before engaging the enemy, it only reinforced the strength of their two-person unit and the fact that Fishlegs and the others were merely accessories to it.

"Stormfly and I can take the lead on this if–" Astrid began, but Hiccup interrupted her, shaking his head.

"No. Toothless and I will play decoy," he said, gently toying with the end of her braid. His expression softened just a little as he considered her. "I want _you_ to have my back."

Astrid placed a hand on his chest while her thumb anxiously rubbed over the handle of her axe in the slightly worn spot she always gripped.

"Don't I always?" she asked.

Hiccup curled his hand around hers and gave it an affectionate squeeze. They were communicating something through locked gazes that Fishegs could not decipher. Then, just as abruptly as they had displayed any tenderness, it was gone. They pulled away from one another and mounted their dragons.

Fishlegs had never seen them more terrifying than when they were poised for flight astride two of the most impressive creatures, imbued with drive and purpose. He understood then why they sent people running upon discovering new villages.

"Let's go," Hiccup said.

The other riders were only just scrambling for their own dragons while Toothless and Stormfly were racing skyward.

"Why don't we just let them clean up? Clearly, they don't need us," Ruffnut remarked, frowning.

Fishlegs was willing to bet there was some truth to that, but no matter how the others complained, feeling inadequate, they would still fly reluctantly forward after the lovebirds for reasons beyond friendship and loyalty. While those virtues had their part to play, it was simply unwise to defy Hiccup and Astrid. Together, they were a nearly unstoppable force, their hearts and minds merged in unyielding pursuit of a common goal. They were something beyond lovers. Two halves of a whole that, while awesome and unparalleled by anything Dagur possessed, was truly terrifying to behold–one of Berk's best defenses. The unrivaled Power Couple.


	9. Growth Spurts

**A/N: **I've done a drabble about Hiccup's phantom limb pain, but this was just different enough. Forgive me if y'all feel like I'm rehashing here.

* * *

"I'm going to hide that leg where you'll never find it," Astrid announced, crossing her arms impatiently. "Then you'll have to build yourself a new one. A better one."

Hiccup sighed in exasperation, hobbling around the house as he tried to deny to himself, and his girlfriend, the amount of discomfort he was really in.

He had recently gone through a growth spurt, and his prosthetic was short by at least a couple inches. For about a week, he only had a limp. Astrid's sharp eyes had been quick to catch it, but he brushed off her concern, assuring her he would replace the inadequate limb before his gait got any worse. His excuse was the mounting order of saddles, and Gobber practically breathing down his neck as he worked, insuring he did not slack off or divert his attention to more personal projects. When he explained it to Astrid, he emphasized the urgency of the orders and Gobber's impatience. For a time, it had quelled her nagging.

While there was enough truth to it, Hiccup exaggerated his mentor's oversight, knowing the older man would gladly shoulder more of the workload for the time it took to construct a new leg. Gobber was not unreasonable, appreciating the necessity of a proper fit better than most people, dealing with his own peg leg often enough over the years.

Hiccup procrastinated anyway, and he only grew taller. His mildly irritating limp became a pronounced lurch, accompanied by the sporadic hiss of pain and almost involuntary expletive. Excuses were no longer good enough to silence Astrid's harrying, and she was not reserved in all the ways she threatened to coerce him. Typically, warnings of aggression were involved–plans to tackle and wrestle his prosthetic from him. Break it. Burn it. Hack it to pieces with her axe. Completely disregarding the fact he still needed it to do any work in the smithy that would result in a new leg.

"I'm_ going _to get to it," he told her between gritted teeth. There was a sharp, shooting pain that raced up his left leg, aggravating his already aching hip. Each uneven step brought his weight down on his stump with greater force than normal. He was beginning to spend more time hopping around on one leg than utilizing the false one. "I just–_ahh_–have a lot of work to–_Frigg–!_"

Astrid growled in frustration, striding over to him with a toss of her head, throwing her braid over her shoulder. "Sit down," she commanded.

"Why–?"

"Sit," she repeated, pressing firmly against his shoulder.

The simple, extra force she exerted on him made his left leg buckle with an agonizing throb. He collapsed with a gasp, unwillingly taking a seat at the table.

"Why do you feel the need to frequently manhandle me?" he asked, frowning.

"Because words don't always bore through that thick head of yours," she sighed, kneeling in front of him. Her hands attacked the rope binding his prosthetic to flesh, and Hiccup did not bother to stifle the soft, pleasurable groan when the hard, unyielding wood was removed. "Am I going to have to badger you about this for the rest of our lives together?"

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow. "_Our_ lives…together?"

Astrid scowled, but there was no mistaking the rosy tint of embarrassment in her face. "Shut up," she grumbled, lightly swatting his inner thigh. "Is that any better?"

"Yes," he admitted, though he always felt distinctly lopsided without his false leg. Astrid began kneading the sore limb. He grimaced for a moment, then closed his eyes and focused on the more enjoyable sensations of her fingers, instead of the occasional twinge of pain. "You're so good at that."

Her eyes flickered to his face.

"I would hope so. I have to do it often enough," she replied accusingly.

"Sorry–"

"How about you actually build yourself a new leg, instead of another apology?"

"I will, Astrid. Okay? I just have to–"

She scoffed and sat back on her knees, throwing her hands in the air irritably. "You always say that and it's been, what? A month now? No one's going to be in physical pain because they have to wait for a Thordamned saddle. You, on the other hand, have been getting progressively worse. Are you trying to win sympathy points or something?"

"_No._ I'm trying to do my job. There are people relying on me. Gobber's relying on me. I can't…I can't just…I don't want to disappoint anyone," he answered, and immediately regretted it. The words sounded a bit juvenile, coming out of his mouth.

He expected a reprimand or, at the very least, some dismissive remark, but Astrid just considered him.

"Berk first, and you always second. Is that it?" she asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting her scrutinizing gaze.

"Yeah. Something like that."

She rolled her eyes and stood up, audibly exhaling through her nose. Without an explanation, she turned and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, leaving him to stare after her, holding his hands out inquisitively, even though she could not see it. He listened to her rummage around his room, feeling a bit violated, but she was on the stairs again before he could grab his prosthetic. In her hand, she held a blank piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil. She crossed the room and set the sketching materials in front of him, then took a step back with her hands on her hips.

"The rest of Berk can wait a little longer for those saddles," she said. "There's another person on the island who can build them…" Her tone softened and she added, "But there's only one you. To Hel with the rest of them, if they're disappointed. I think you're more important than a heap of leather."

He picked up the pencil and retorted, "Yes, but it's very nice leather."

Astrid furrowed her brow and mouthed wordlessly at him. He could not help but crack a smile, and she just shook her incredulously.

"I'm dating an idiot," she murmured.

Hiccup laughed and gazed down and the pencil in his hand, rolling it back an forth between his fingers. He knew Astrid had a point. She admired him for his selflessness unless it came at personal detriment to himself. It was not necessarily a conscious thing, however. He had an inherent need for the village's approval–past, present, and future. Physical desires were often secondary to psychological ones.

"I'm an idiot for caring?" he mused.

"No. You're an idiot for forcing your girlfriend watch you in pain for the past month–for worrying her for no reason. For downplaying your misery for the benefit of everyone else," Astrid answered. She gestured to the parchment on the table. "I brought that so you could sketch up a new prosthetic. I'm not leaving until you do. I'm not letting you leave until you do, because…this is the only way I know how to help you…"

Hiccup pursed his lips and gazed at the floor. He felt a stab of guilt. He had not intended to upset Astrid. He knew, of course, that she had been frustrated, but the way she spoke to him then conveyed a sense of helplessness. It was not an emotion she often displayed, and he could imagine, if the roles were reversed, it would torment him to watch Astrid suffering needlessly. He regretted causing her any unhappiness, because in his mind, Astrid came first in most things, then Berk. He was still last.

He had thought he was being selfless by completing projects for his tribesmen, and sparing Astrid grief by putting on a brave face. Instead, he had only caused her heartache by being oblivious and dense to anything and anyone beyond the narrow scope of his own concerns. In that sense, he had actually been selfish.

He wanted to set things right, but asking for forgiveness rarely got him anything. His girlfriend preferred action to words.

He glanced up at her with a rueful smile.

"I do have an idea or two for a new leg," he told her. He swiveled around to face the parchment. "I could really use your input. A second opinion would definitely help."

He had just barely begun sketch when he felt Astrid's arms wrap around his shoulders. He suppressed a shiver when her lips brushed his ear.

"Apology accepted," she murmured.


	10. Ill

He hit his knees, doubled over on the cold, damp grass. His breath came in short puffs of steam, swirling in front of his face as he struggled against the bile rising in his throat. It was an urgent nausea that struck him—sudden and intense. His short nails dug into the hard, frigid ground. He did not even notice the tiny shards of frost biting at his bare fingers, making them stiff and numb. The only thing he could focus on was the churning of his stomach—that sickeningly sour roil that seemed to consume the entirety of him.

He vaguely registered Toothless's warble and the impact of heavy dragon's claws landing nearby.

"Hiccup!"

The frozen grass crunched loudly under hurried footfalls. Then there was a hand rubbing his back, a little too frantically to be soothing, but he appreciated the gesture anyway. Astrid was not delicate even in the height of her concern, but he appreciated all of her gestures of kindness and compassion, even if he found himself with a case of the heaves.

She asked, "Are you al—?"

He shook his head tersely, head down and shoulders rounded. Obviously, he had been better.

"What is—?"

But he cut her off again, gripping her knee like a vice as it surge up from the pit of his stomach in an unstoppable wave. Breakfast, not even an hour old, was coughed up all over the grass in a thick, repugnant pile. It was as unpleasant coming back up as it was going down, but he did not voice that opinion to Astrid. She had put so much effort into the meal and was visibly frustrated at the other teens' reluctance to try any of it.

"What did you cook it in?" Ruffnut has asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Dragon piss?"

Seeing his lover's ire bubble to dangerous levels, he had offered to brave the questionable concoction, thinking it could not possibly compare to her infamously putrid yaknog—but it had come close. His ability to finish it was a matter of pride and seeing Astrid's face so bright had been well worth the torture of shoveling it down. He had not anticipated the torment would haunt him a second time until he knelt, vomiting it up on the grass.

A couple more hard lurches and wheezes and his stomach was blissfully empty. He sat back, wiping the excess saliva from his mouth with the back of his trembling hand. Weak and spent, he gulped down the brisk morning air, happy to at least breathe freely again.

"Feel better?" Astrid asked, gently raking her fingers through his hair.

"Yes," he replied. "I just needed to get that out of my system."

Astrid withdrew her hand, frowning with a knitted brow. "Is my cooking_ that_ bad?"

He glanced at her, wincing from the sting of candor. "I'm sorry, Astrid, but it's the worst. Truly."

She swatted him in the shoulder, mercifully light as he recovered. She shook her head, puzzled. "Why did you eat it then?"

"Because…I would do just about anything for you," he answered, giving her a faint smile. She raised her eyebrows challengingly and his face fell. He quickly added, "Except your food. Not again. Never again. I-I would rather…take on a thousand Screaming Deaths that try to swallow one more bite of—"

"Alright, _alright!_" she grumbled, raising her hands in defeat. "You've made your point." She scowled, folding her arms peevishly. "I won't cook anymore. Gods forbid I poison anybody—except Snotlout, maybe. He's expendable, I guess."

Hiccup chuckled softly, and since he was already being brutally honest…

"Your yaknog's pretty foul, too."

Astrid sneered and punched him in the arm, all sympathy apparently forgotten. It was fortunate he was always so quick to rebound. He was not sure he could survive their relationship otherwise.


	11. Viking Suck-face

Toothless growled, ear flaps drooping with exasperation.

He usually did not care what the humans did. It did not involve him, so there was nothing to gain from worrying about it. He occupied himself as they writhed on the ground, or in Hiccup's bed, shedding the vibrant layers that covered their fragile bodies. It was always a bit off-putting, the grunts and the oppressive musk of sweat and pheromones, but Toothless would clean his scales in the meantime. Take a nap. Follow the songbirds as they flitted among the trees, if the humans were seized by that frequent compulsion to fervently rub together under a clear sky.

It always began the same way. Hiccup would urge him to race the Nadder. A little friendly competition with the pale Viking girl of whom he was so incredibly fond. It was always thrilling for Toothless, beating his leathery wings with all his might, caressed by the wind. There was nothing but the liberating rush of flight. The Nadder was often left chasing after his tail, and he reveled in the opportunity to display his superiority–that was, unless Hiccup eased back on his prosthesis, purposefully slowing down for reasons Toothless could not understand.

Why race if he did not intend to win? Why _let_ the Nadder and her human snatch an undeserved victory? The vast majority of the time, his and Hiccup's wills were the same. So much so, that Toothless could determine what Hiccup wanted by nonverbal cues and emotional energy. He could not interpret the Vikings' language, but he knew Hiccup's soul, very similar to his own–except if the girl was involved.

Toothless liked her well enough. She made Hiccup happy. He could sense his human's spike in joy whenever she came around, and that was enough to make her worthy, in Toothless's eyes. He did not, however, approve how she cut in on their flight time, or convinced Hiccup to make puzzling choices, like forfeiting an easy win.

Maybe there was something to all the face-sucking and body-grinding? The Nadder's human–Toothless had come to figure her name was Astrid–more readily engaged in that strange behavior if she won their races. She and Hiccup would dismount, exchange a few words in a funny tone of voice, before she pulled him in and tried to devour his face–or whatever it was that crushing their mouths together was meant to accomplish.

It had been alarming the first time. Toothless had snarled when Astrid backed Hiccup against a tree, eating his lips, but the boy had moaned–not a sound of pain. He was not distressed, but pleased. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her up against him, further pinning himself against the rough bark. It was then that Toothless was reminded he was a dragon and Hiccup, a human, with different desires in life. There was something about Astrid that filled a void in Hiccup's heart, one that Toothless knew, bitterly, he could not satisfy. He had to share Hiccup, and suffer his human's occasional lack of judgment in the quest for more suck-face.

He could tolerate it. Stand for being pushed into the background while Hiccup and Astrid groped each other and whimpered. He had come to expect it, resting his head on his claws whenever the two humans collided. He only had one simple wish–something he could not communicate, but he knew Hiccup could understand. He did not want to be collateral damage, unintentionally caught up in their activities. For the most part, that was not an issue. But, every now and then…

Toothless narrowed his eyes as he felt the humans bump into him. They had ignored his warning growl, oblivious, as Astrid used him for support. She leaned back against his scaly shoulder with a soft gasp as Hiccup's hands disappeared beneath her blue covering–why humans wore so many layers, Toothless did not know, especially when they seemed so cumbersome for suck-face.

Hiccup was playing with those odd mounds of flesh that only the female Vikings possessed–and some of the fatter males. Toothless reasoned they were for feeding offspring, having seen babies suckle and soothe their cries. Hiccup and Astrid did not have any infants of their own, but found plenty of use for those peculiar fleshy protrusions.

"Hiccup…" Astrid whispered–a name Toothless could understand.

She was pleading for something, and Hiccup knew, by some mysterious ability, what she wanted from him. She tossed her head back, resting it against Toothless as Hiccup nibbled along her neck–yet another seemingly ridiculous gesture humans found pleasurable.

Toothless nudged Astrid pointedly, determined to shoo the Vikings away from him. He wanted no part of whatever they were doing, and he had been sitting calmly, minding his own business in the shade. It was not fair, then, for them to expect _him_ to move. He was a dragon. They were soft, vulnerable humans. In a power struggle, he was at an advantage.

He butted into Astrid's side, more insistent, and she had the audacity to shove him away with an impatient and irritated, "Stop."

Toothless glared at Hiccup with a rumble in his throat. A clear declaration of his mounting displeasure.

Hiccup's eyes snapped up for a moment, apologetic. Briefly connected with Toothless on that plane of understanding, but then Astrid palmed between his legs, and his eyes rolled back with a groan. Toothless faded from his consciousness and he pressed into Astrid, the two of them rolling their lower bodies together in an undulation Toothless felt against his skin.

That was _quite _enough.

He jerked away from the humans abruptly, shifting his body while retaining his chosen spot beneath the rustling trees. With a yelp, the Vikings tumbled to the ground unceremoniously, in a tangled mass of limbs.

Hiccup frowned up at him with a scolding, "Toothless!"

Though much of their behavior was lost on Toothless, he could appreciate the humor of the situation–feelings of mirth learned from living amongst such jovial creatures as Vikings. He flashed his human a gummy smile and warbled out a laugh. The two humans stared up at him, bewildered, then they also started to snicker.

For a moment, they all understood each other perfectly.


	12. Understanding

"One day, yeh'll get it. One day, yeh'll understand."

Hiccup had grown tired of hearing it. His whole life, since he had been old enough to comprehend, his father had said the same thing—an infuriating phrase he would employ whenever he wanted to be obnoxiously paternal. It never came with an additional explanation, leaving a young boy to stand in his father's colossal shadow, pouting. Naturally inquisitive and bright, Hiccup always felt insulted when reprimands were followed by such vague reasoning.

Sure, Stoick the Vast had every right to be protective and wrest an real sword from seven-year-old Hiccup's small hands. "The blade is sharp and dangerous," would have been suitable enough rebuttal to a boy's resulting protest. Even something as authoritarian and final as, "Because I am your father and I say so!" would have been effective—that was another statement Hiccup heard often enough in his younger years as a weary chief silenced childish tantrums.

Instead, his father gave him a rather tender and sympathetic stare that was confusing to Hiccup's young and developing brain.

"One day, yeh'll get it. One day, yeh'll understand."

But that day did not come by the age of ten, when Stoick left him on the docks while he and many other fathers set sail for the thick, swirling fog of Helheim's Gate. Nor did it come when he was dragged by his tunic into the sweltering smithy to apprentice under the very intimidating Gobber the Belch in the heat of the roaring forge. He was no closer to understanding those words when his father would confine him to the house during dragon raids and publicly rebuke his more creative efforts to kill the winged beasts.

"Why won't you let me out there, dad? I'll never know if my inventions work if you don't give me the chance!" Hiccup had insisted, when he was newly fifteen and foolhardy.

It was a tired argument, several years too stale for any real passion to be left in it.

"Yeh could get hurt," was his father's gruff response, sharpening his axe at the table without as much as a half-glance up at his son.

"So could you. So could everyone! It's part of being a Viking."

"Not fer ye."

"Because I'm Berk's only heir. Is that it?" Hiccup grumbled back. "That's the one thing that makes me worth anything to anyone around here."

Stoick stood up, chair creaking as his weight shifted forward. Hiccup had not yet hit those much needed growth spurts, far shorter than the other teens his age, and much too diminutive to be worthy of his father's legacy. He cast his gaze to the floor but not before he registered that odd expression, not quite pity and not quite affectionate. Not at all the withering scowl he was used to.

"One day, yeh'll get it. One day, yeh'll understand."

But that phrase was just as perplexing and mildly irritating at twenty as it had ever been, though the dynamics of their relationship had changed for the better. Instead of disappointment, his father was bursting with pride to the point it was uncomfortable to be around the man. Noisy boasting around the village and inconvenient, spontaneous bear-hugs kept Hiccup plenty embarrassed. His father would strike up the Great Hall into a celebratory atmosphere whenever Hiccup won a dragon race—or Astrid, for that matter—as if it was some novel thing. Then, there was the exuberant fantasizing of a wedding and grandchildren to come. So many, _many_ grandchildren. He was relentless, and more than once Astrid had thrown out a weak excuse to scurry off, leaving Hiccup to bear the brunt of his father's abundant pride alone.

"Why do you do that?" Hiccup asked, exasperated. He watched his girlfriend fly off on her dragon, wanting desperately to join her. "We're not even engaged yet. You're going to scare her away."

His father chuckled and clapped him hard on the back. No longer so tiny, Hiccup's knees did not buckle, but his eyes rolled at the predictable adage that followed:

"One day, yeh'll get it. One day, yeh'll understand."

And Hiccup wished he did get it, so fiercely. Maybe then, he could have known what had been going on in his father's head that day, facing off against Drago Bludvist and his Bewilderbeast. Maybe he could have shouted something else—something that might have stopped his father from diving in the way, from taking the plasma blast that was never meant for him. Hiccup was going to dodge it, after all. He knew Toothless, knew the dragon's timing. But his father had sprinted down that beach as if there was no force in Asgard that could have stopped him.

Why?

After everything, did Stoick still not trust his son? Did he still doubt Hiccup despite his extensive knowledge and skills with dragons? What had possessed the chief to do something so impulsive? Why did love have to overthrow common sense?

Hiccup had been angry for a long time, shedding tears of bitterness and grief alone in the darkness with only Astrid and Toothless to witness it. He did not blame his father, but he hurt deeply from the void he had left behind. Such a senseless death that never should have occurred, but did for reasons Hiccup could not fully grasp. His father was an intelligent man, and his sacrifice was unnecessary. So there was guilt. So much guilt, and sadness. He could rationalize it in his head—a parent's unconditional love for their child—but he could not fully understand or empathize.

Until her.

That precious bundle in his arms, so round and pink-faced, swaddled in furs. She blinked up at him, blue eyes brighter and more vibrant than a cloudless day. She cooed, laughed, smiled that toothless little grin, and his heart was full. A bit of him and plenty of Astrid, she was perfect. She was the center of everything, filling him with a love far greater and far more powerful than anything he knew. He never expected to feel so much, to love someone so completely. All his hopes, dreams, and concerns for the future were embodied by such a fragile person. Before her, he had thought Astrid and Toothless were incomparable in his life.

True, his dragon and his wife still meant so much to him-vital to his existence, really-and though he would gladly die for either one, the love he had for them had been the necessary components in creating _her_. Toothless had set his relationship with Astrid in motion, and their whole wonderful life together had been steeping stones to a new kind of completion. Everything in his life had been leading him to her. To the moment where he could kiss her smooth, tiny cheek, stare up at his father's likeness chiseled in stone and finally say, "I get it. I understand."


	13. Nanny Toothless

For ten years, Toothless had been living amongst Vikings, learning their culture and coming to appreciate all their peculiarities—the way they clung to their weapons like an extra limb, the way they would drink until their speech became incoherent and walking was difficult. They were an aggressive species, and he knew that all too well, but they would bicker and throw punches until blood was drawn, then lean on each other and chortle through broken noses. No, Toothless did not understand everything about Vikings, but he cared for them—loud but fragile sacks of flesh and bone, unaware of their own limitations at times. But nothing was more confusing than their wide range of emotions and how quickly they could run through the entire spectrum and back again.

Toothless had witnessed it firsthand. After several days of flowers and festivities, Astrid, Stormfly, and Sneaky, had moved in. At first, he had expected she would slip out of his and Hiccup's new, much larger house with the first bands of dawn like she had always done—but she had stayed, that morning, that day, that night, and all the ones thereafter. Her presence brought great calm as well as moments of fury and raised voices. Her anger swelled like a storm front, blowing through the house and stirring Hiccup's usually placid emotions until he snapped back at her. Toothless could taste everything on the air, the initial displeasure, mounting anger, the crest of all their arguments, then the deep remorse and affection that would pour from both of them as they tumbled to the floor in the aftermath. They were too impulsive to make it to the bed sometimes—their preferred location to squirm on top of one another. The shouting between them was few and far between, however, so often eclipsed by something much more tender, but no less potent, and every bit as passionate.

It was not long before Toothless realized Astrid was Hiccup's mate, or whatever they human equivalent happened to be. Their cohabitation and the way they seemed so inextricably bound to one another made it obvious. Hiccup had chosen her with that finality that was so foreign to dragons. Humans could mate for life in a way that just seemed so impractical to Toothless. Was it not prudent to have many consorts and reproduce on a larger scale? But that was something inherent and instinctual, and the foundation of human unions rested on something greater. More powerful.

It something undefinable that passed between the two young humans whenever they look at each other. They did not need to be writhing on fur rugs or tangled up in wool blankets for Toothless to sense it. Hiccup was not as forthcoming as some Vikings—his emotions not as jarring and offensive as that older man with the missing leg and hand who smelled vaguely of wet wool and old cheese—but his feelings ran deep and boundless, like the dark waters of the northern sea. Something burned inside of Hiccup, warm and all-consuming and just for Astrid. Toothless found it soothing, curling up by the hearth and basking in the peaceful atmosphere brought about by their quiet evenings together, Hiccup pouring over parchment while Astrid ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring about whatever concerns he had. The intensity of whatever it was that Hiccup felt for Astrid was rivaled only by what he exuded whenever he looked at Toothless, but it was also different somehow. Two branches of the same crucial tree, separate, but equally important. Equally as vital to holding the young man together.

But Toothless should have known better than to assume nothing would change. Humans seemed to be all about messing with a perfectly good thing.

A year or so into the perfect arrangement he had accepted and grown comfortable in, things took an unexpected turn—or rather, unexpected for him. A dragon. It was an unnecessary thing, but it happened anyway, and Toothless was plunged into a whole new batch of perplexities.

Hiccup and Astrid had an offspring.

Toothless had known it was coming before he ever laid his large, reptilian eyes on the squishy, pink, wailing hatchling—or whatever it was humans called them. "Baby" came to mind. Astrid's belly grew rounder, and apart from her odd fluctuating hormones hanging thickly in the breeze, there was an overwhelming amount of excitement from both humans. Toothless had lived with Vikings long enough to figure out what came next.

Piercing cries that could rouse the dead, sleepless nights for humans and dragons alike, copious worry, frustration, and joy all mingling together inside Hiccup and Astrid. That strong, nameless emotion multiplied, and Hiccup was a man possessed whenever he held his offspring. It had a head of vibrant red fuzz, with green eyes that Hiccup had given to it. Toothless did not understand the utility in human hatchlings. They were weak, defenseless, and frail for far longer than any other creature he knew of. They needed constant looking after, but Astrid was a dedicated mother and Hiccup, a doting and attentive father. Toothless was content to remain uninvolved until the age the offspring would finally become interesting.

Humans often had other plans.

Astrid was preparing a meal and Hiccup was lying on the floor beside Toothless, balancing his baby in his hands above his head, flashing all manner of ridiculous faces he had no business making. His offspring giggled and Hiccup chuckled, that unfathomable devotion radiating from him like the rays of the sun, lighting up the room and warming everything in it. It was like that sensation when Toothless first nestled down on his smoldering stone after a brisk evening flight.

It was _like_ that, but still fell woefully short.

Then Astrid started talking and Hiccup turned to her, lowering his baby on to his chest as he listened to his mate with rapt attention. His tone grew low and soporific with a subtle authority he adopted whenever he tended to matters as the alpha Viking. His offspring took no notice, grasping at the glinting ornaments of his attire—buckles and some sort of silver piece that secured the fur on his shoulders. Toothless was baffled how Hiccup was not annoyed, for those pudgy little hands were relentless.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward to snort disapprovingly, rustling the fur covering on the baby's backside. The hatchling stopped, blinked up at him in surprise. Hiccup and Astrid kept talking.

For a moment, Toothless and the baby just stared at each other, curiosity evident all over that round face, glistening with abundant saliva. It squealed and Toothless recoiled, cocking his head to the side. Those chubby fingers reached for him eagerly and the hatchling tried to free itself from Hiccup's arms with a clumsy lurch. Toothless's ear perked up in alarm and his eyes snapped to Hiccup, but the young man just set the baby down on the floor without missing a beat of conversation. His mouth was moving but Toothless could not understand the words, though his tone suggested he was still talking to Astrid. He watched his offspring crawl towards Toothless, but the dragon felt slightly panicked.

It was so delicate, making a beeline for him. Toothless tensed, afraid of such a tiny creature. Uncertain how to interact with it—if he might hurt it. The hatchling was Hiccup's whole world ever since it came screaming into his life. Toothless could not bear the idea he might harm another member of Hiccup's blood, especially someone so precious to him.

"It's okay, bud," Hiccup said, and Toothless started back at him anxiously. The endearment helped, but the reassuring nod did very little. The chatter between Hiccup and Astrid resumed and Toothless felt at the mercy of the intrepid baby, though he could feel Hiccup's scrutiny from the corner of those green eyes.

It was at his claws, slapping at his scaly hide with no coordination. Intrigued cooing accompanied the exploration of his skin. Hesitantly, Toothless bent down to sniff at the hatchling, catching the scent of Hiccup, Astrid, and what was unique to the hatchling, itself. He nudged it gently with his snout, testing its durability. It startled him with another shrill cry, gripping his flaring nostrils with surprising strength. Toothless withdrew immediately shaking his nose while the baby at his feet tittered with amusement. Hiccup was no longer observing, hand resting idly on his stomach with his head tilted back to focus on Astrid entirely. Implicit trust had taken over, and Toothless was disappointed.

He dipped his head once more, trying to guide the baby back to its father, but it just kept crawling with more speed and vigor than Toothless expected. Bold and incautious, just like Hiccup, it disappeared beneath the tent of his wing, and the leathery skin rippled as the hatchling investigated it.

Exasperated, Toothless extended his wing with a _woosh_, bathing the baby in firelight one more. It was only delighted, and the wonderment gave Toothless pause.

Yes, he supposed. He _was_ an impressive specimen of dragon.

Carefully, he dropped his wing over the hatchling again, earning a puzzled little "Ooh?" Toothless' gummy smile spread across his face. Suddenly, he extended his wing and the baby lit up at the sight of him, like it was the greatest trick in all of creation. The dragon's fangless grin of namesake only broadened.

He curled his tail around to flex his remaining fin and the hatchling was fascinated. The sharp tug was not exactly welcome, but Toothless was forgiving. It had been a while since anyone or anything had been so enamored with him, and he felt a surge of pride. He simply raised his tail out of reach, warbling in mirth when the hatchling followed it, transfixed.

The baby started to fuss, reaching for his tail fruitlessly. Whines grew louder, more insistent, and Toothless wanted to placate it before it dissolved into one of its excruciating wails.

Sliding his tail across the floor, he gently swept the hatchling into his side, right behind his elbow. It seemed to settle, seizing his tail again. It gazed up at him innocently, bringing his fin to its mouth, clamping down with tiny lips and gums, drooling over the membranous flesh as it considered him. Toothless did not know what it hoped to accomplish, suckling his tail, but he felt something then. It was a fierce affection for the wide-eyed hatchling, something deep and indescribable. He wanted to protect it and keep it close for reasons beyond it was merely Hiccup's offspring. He wanted to care for the baby like it was his own.

He lowered his head onto his claws, staring back at the baby with an equal fascination, watching its eyelids drop witch each rumbling breath he took. The room was silent and Toothless realized Hiccup and Astrid were no longer talking. He was about to glance up when he felt a familiar hand on his head with an amazing, calming effect.

"I love you, bud."

And Toothless felt his own emotions reflect the tenderness coming from Hiccup then.


	14. Gap Tooth Love

**A/N:** A Tumblr mini-drabble request for Astrid teasing Hiccup about the gap in his teeth.

* * *

Hiccup ran his tongue over his uneven teeth before pursing his lips. Astrid laughed and bent down, craning her neck up at him. There was something delightful about teasing her lover. He never got _that _upset, and his pouting was simply endearing.

"Stop," Hiccup grumbled, splashing her haphazardly. He turned away, hand covering his mouth.

Astrid snorted, sweeping her wet hair back. She waded up against him, trying to pry his hand away from his sour face. He narrowed his eyes, leaning away.

"I mean, _does_ it make a whistling sound when the wind blows through it?" she grinned. "Man, food must get stuck in that thing all the time. It's like a deathtrap. I bet you need mooring ropes to floss."

If possible, his furrowed brow only grew more severe and he grunted behind his fingers. No amount of biting her lip could stifle her giggles. She decided to give him a reprieve.

"It's cute, really!" she insisted, and that was the truth, be he was no gladder to hear it. She snickered when he scowled. "It's _adorable,_ like your freckles. I bet you can shoot water through it!"

Hiccup rolled his eyes, letting his hand fall in exasperation. With a heavy, open-mouthed sigh, one that showed off the impressive gap in his teeth quite nicely, he dipped below the water to wet his hair. He resurfaced close to her, and the cool mountain stream had done little to wash away his annoyance.

"I mean, I think that gap between your teeth is way more outstanding that those glacial fissures—"

He did not let her finish. Like a tall, lithe archerfish, he forced a thin ribbon of water through his gapped teeth, hitting her square in the face with surprising accuracy. She sputtered and blinked, stunned, while Hiccup folded her arms across his bare chest, smug.

"Hm. I guess it _does _have its uses."

There was a brief silence in which Astrid just stared at him, incredulous. Then, with a broadening smirk, she launched herself at him.

Their dragons were used to their little scuffles, and they continued to snooze on the bank, paying no heed to the shrieks of laughter and the insincere cries for help. The furious splashing and cackled "No…_no!"_ were nothing out of the ordinary. Neither was the abrupt silence that followed, and the soft, satisfied hum of a welcome kiss.

Astrid wrapped her arms around her lover, poking her tongue in past his lips to probe at the gap between those two, large front teeth.

"_Stop_," Hiccup breathed into her mouth, and she just smiled.


	15. How To Save Your Damsel

**A/N:** Someone on Tumblr asked for Astrid Saving Hiccup, for a change.

* * *

A fist collided with the side of his face, hard and unforgiving. Knuckles struck beneath his eye and stars flew in his vision, bright spots courtesy of a vicious man. Hiccup doubled over, straining against the arms that bound him, and spat a frothy a thick mixture of saliva and blood onto the deck of the ship. He vaguely registered the dull ache of kneeling on cold, wood beams. It should have hurt more, but Snotlout was his cousin, and Hiccup had been punched on the regular throughout his childhood. He knew how to take a hit.

Dagur laughed, wicked and amused. "I thought that would knock you out cold!" he squatted down in front of Hiccup, not quite to the same level. "I'm impressed. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you manage to surprise me."

Hiccup glared up through his bangs, heavy and damp with the salty breeze. Dagur's broad grin met him, and clammy fingers tilted his chin upward. He found that patchy beard was still ridiculous, even at the Berserker chief's mercy.

"I hate surprises," Dagur hissed, and his acrid breath was hot on Hiccup's face, making his freckled nose wrinkle. "I won't ask quite so nicely the next time—so, where is the Dragon Eye?"

Easy answer. It with his friends, at their outpost. Miles away, if the other riders had any sense.

"I don't know," Hiccup growled.

Dagur clicked his tongue and withdrew his touch. He rolled his eyes with a loud, exaggerated groan. "Hiccup, Hiccup! Now we both know that is complete yakshit."

A snap of his fingers and Hiccup was thrown to the deck, barely catching himself before Savage's boot connected beneath his ribs. The breath was knocked from his lungs all at once as he was kicked onto his back. Writhing slightly, he gasped, trying to recover. Somewhere close, Toothless growled, muffled within a cage rattling with his anger.

"Where's the Dragon Eye?" Dagur repeated with mounting impatience.

"I don't know," Hiccup coughed.

"Why do you insist on lying to me, brother? We've always been so open with each other, you and I." Another snap that was like a crack of thunder. Another kick from Savage that would bruise.

Hiccup was thrown on all fours by the force of it, grimacing and clutching his side, bracing the stinging, tender flesh. His stabilizing hand was rigid, nails scratching into the grimy deck of the Berserker ship, rocking and groaning beneath him—or maybe the intense swaying was his own reeling consciousness as he gasped for air that would not come, muscles paralyzed by pain, leaving desperately panting like a fish out of water.

Toothless was throwing himself into the side of the cage to break free of it. Though muzzled, the dragon's menacing rumbles were loud and unmistakable, and it was comforting to know the Night Fury was there—the one ally on a hostile vessel.

Hiccup swore as thick fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him sharply back to his knees. His hands shot up to claw futilely at a strong wrist, wrapped in studded leather bracers.

Dagur's face was much too close and Hiccup pulled away as best he could, limited by the unrelenting grasp the other man had on him.

"Where. Is. YOUR. ISLAND?" Dagur's voice rang out in the brisk air, reverberating in Hiccup's skull.

"Out there, somewhere?" Hiccup answered through gritted teeth, gesturing in the wrong direction.

Dagur scowled and shoved him back roughly into Savage's chokehold, compressing his windpipe and carotid. Hiccup's head was swimming, but there was an unsheathing of a blade that cut through his daze with urgency.

"The thing about you, brother, is you make things harder for yourself than they need to be. So…unflappable," Dagur waved a hand theatrically, "someone else has suffer to get you riled up—to cooperate."

Deliberate strides were made in Toothless's direction, and the panic, cold and debilitating, washed over Hiccup like he had fallen through a patch of thin ice.

"T-Toothless!" he choked out. He tried to wrench Savage's arms from his neck, but he might as well have tried to wrest a bolder from a Gronckle for all the good it did him. Pleading, because threats against his dragon were the thing that could undo him, he yelped "No! Don't—!"

Dagur interrupted with his wild, disjointed cackle. "Kill him? Why would I_ kill _him? Then I don't get to have him." He threw himself against the cage, making the Night Fury recoil. "And I really, _really_ want this dragon…" In his typical, depraved manner, his traced over the bars with sensual fingers, shuddering at the pleasurable thought of owning Toothless, using him as a weapon. "No. I'm just going to…take a toe off. Or how about an ear? He can still fight without those, right? And scars…I'll give him new scars, and he will look so impossibly…_beautiful_." He tittered, imagining it. "So, what's it going to be, Hiccup? The Dragon Eye? The location of your island so I can take it, myself?" He balled his free hand into an emphatic fist. "Or bits and pieces of your dragon? Parts to remember him by?"

"Dagur!" Hiccup wheezed, Savage tightening his hold. "Stop—!"

Then, there was shouting, alarmed but indistinct voices of the crew, and Dagur's attention turned to the sky with a furious scowl. Whistles of unseen projectiles preceded howls of pain, and the clanging of relinquished weapons falling to the deck.

Hiccu's brow furrowed in the confusion, trying to make sense of it.

"Well, don't just stand there pissing yourselves!" Dagur snapped, Toothless momentarily forgotten. "Shoot her down!"

Hiccup knew the flap of dragon wings, recognized that particular squawk, indignant over a volley of bola nets, felt the soft impact of talons aboard the ship, heard the burst of spines from the whip of a Nadder's tail puncturing flesh and wood and pinging off metal in a staccato rhythm. Iron against iron, clashing violently amid masculine battle cries and a single, feminine grunt. A sizzling, crackling heat sent men diving overboard to escape with lives and limbs intact.

"Put the fire ou—!" Dagur growled in frustration, knuckles popping over the hilt of his sword as he gripped it tighter. "I have to do everything myself!"

He strode off to join the fight, and Hiccup expected to a flaming Monstrous Nightmare, or a creeping cloud of Zippleback gas—but he heard just a Nadder and her fierce rider. Not even the buzz of a Gronckle's wings.

A snap of a tail and a cry, and Hiccup was falling forward. He caught himself, again, glancing over his shoulder to see Savage nursing a bleeding shoulder, pierced by a blue and yellow spike. The man took off for the ship's stern in a frantic sprint, chased down by Stormfly. The dragon's wings were extended, head lowered with snapping jaws, stalking after the fleeing Berserker with heavy, threatening footfalls.

Hiccup sat up, gulping for breath and massaging his throat. He swiveled on his knees, watching with an anxious tightening of his gut as Astrid fought Dagur. Her axe against his sword, any every bit of hatred and ferocity buzzing in the air between them. Astrid would lunge and miss, Dagur would swing, and she would parry with a step back, spinning her weapon. Sunlight filtered down, diffused through the overcast clouds, flashing off their weapons like strikes of lightning, like two warring titans, equally matched. Astrid was quicker, lighter on her feet. She could evade Dagur's slower, but more aggressive advances. He was more skilled in combat overall, able to defend and dance around her from experience and reading here as opposed to speed.

Toothless thrashed around, capturing Hiccup's attention. Still muzzled and locked away, the Night Fury wanted to get to him, gazing at him with large, beseeching eyes, and Hiccup felt powerless to do anything. He had no weapons, and Astrid was battling Dagur on her own. His dragon was caged and one of the Beserkers—the one with the keyring on his belt—had leapt overboard to escape Stormfly's burst of whit-hot, magnesium flame.

Another Berserker climbed back up over the side of the ship, sopping wet and livid. He flopped over the side onto the deck, and scrambled after Hiccup with a spiked mace to bludgeon him. Hiccup dove out of the way, flattening himself against the ground as the wind of the intended blow rustled his hair, narrowly missing. With a bellow, the weapon was raised again, but a powerful sweep of a spiked Nadder's tail threw him into the side of the ship, head hitting the railing and knocking him out cold.

Stormfly approached Toothless's cage, grasping the door in her large talons. She hovered and pulled harshly, crushing down on the flat bars with all her might. The latch broke and the door swung open, freeing Toothless.

"No! _NO!_" Dagur roared, taking his eyes off Astrid for a second—enough time for her to drive the handle over her axe into his temple. He clapped a hand to his head and staggered about, grimacing and rambling all manner of swearing.

"Stormfly!" Astrid called, and the Nadder was at her side immediately.

She mounted her dragon while Hiccup unbuckled to muzzle on Toothless, tossing aside the heavy leather strap. The Night Fury cooed appreciatively.

"Let's get out of here, bud," Hiccup murmured, climbing into his saddle

.  
He was airborne, followed closely by Astrid, and they flew off toward the horizon with Dagur's furious screeching at their backs. The two Hooligans were silent, however, gliding side-by-side.

Hiccup had regained most of his composure, only a bit shaken, more at the thought of Toothless being harmed than anything else. It had been too close a call…He was glad his dragon was safe, giving only a vague thought to the aching of his own body. Beside him, he could hear Astrid's deep and even breathing, but her posture was rigid. She was staring ahead with her eyes cold and jaw clenched, and Hiccup knew what that meant. Her radiating anger was palpable.

"Thank you, Astrid," he muttered, feeling a trepidation addressing her at all. "If you hadn't shown up when you did—"

"You don't _think_, do you?" she snapped, turning to glare at him and he balked. "You get an idea in that stubborn, reckless head of yours and you just…fly off. On impulse! On a whim!"

"I got a lead with the Dragon Eye and I thought—"

"No, you didn't! You never do! The rest of us aren't supposed to fly off alone on your orders, but as usual, the rules just don't apply to you!" She was fuming, gazing into the distance with her shoulders tense. "Don't you worry about the consequences? Ever? Or do you just hope it'll miraculously work out for you in the end—stupidly lucky as you always have been?"

"Yes, I do think of the consequences!" Hiccup replied defensively. He pressed his hand to his side, sore from where Savage had kicked him. But it could have been worse. If Dagur had gotten to his dragon, he shuddered to think of the state the Night Fury might be in. "Toothless—!"

Astrid growled, aggravated. "Your dragon isn't the only thing that matters, Hiccup!" She flew Stormfly closer, physically asserting her point.

"I know that." Hiccup saw images of Astrid fighting Dagur, and felt a nauseating clench of his stomach. That gleaming sword, thrust at his friend—more than friend, really. Undefined, unexplored, but something greater. "If anything happened to you, I'd—"

Stormfly glided above him, inverted enough for Astrid to reach out and punch him in the shoulder.

"You're such an idiot. I wasn't talking about Toothless. I wasn't talking about myself!"

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes.

"I was talking about you, idiot!" Her voice softened by a small margin. "_You_ matter."

Through the prickling guilt making his face burn, Hiccup felt a small ripple of hope for something deeper and more meaningful was implied in that chastisement.


	16. Winning Isn't Everything

**A/N: **Hiccup lets Astrid win at dragon racing. Vaguely RTTE-ish.

* * *

"I know what you did."

Hiccup stiffened, feeling his gut twist as his girlfriend dismounted her dragon, blue eyes blazing through her facepaint. She tossed her braid over her shoulder, advancing on him with her fists clenched. A vivid memory rose to mind of a hidden cove and a fifteen-year-old Astrid Hofferson, stalking towards him with a sharpened battle axe. She was every bit as beautiful as she was back then, and still every bit as terrifying.

He whipped around, trapped between his Night Fury and a blonde tempest, and though he had clearly surpassed her in height, her anger could still reduce him to stuttering child. She did not hit him anymore, thank Odin, but there was something withering in her glare.

"A-Astrid! I-I-I don't know…wh-what you—"

She reached for him and he balked, her thin fingers closing around the leather strap on his chest. Before he could react, prostrate with apology, he was yanked toward her lips. They were notably soft and full and enticing, no matter how desperately he tried not to stare, and they were against his mouth roughly, with enthusiasm. He felt her smirk and tasted her amusement, wet and inviting on his lips.

Her eyes fluttered closed with an accompanying hum in her throat, and her arms came around his neck, molding their chests together seamlessly. She was kissing him—_really _kissing him—and he was bewildered. But her lips were sweet, drawing a sigh of pleasure from him that warmed the breath they shared. She was firm, graceful muscle beneath his hands. He closed his eyes and embraced her fully.

Their heads tilted this way and that, deepening kiss burning hot and steady, tongues flicking out to test parted lips, to brush and to explore. They were just friends, who raced and teased and talked about dragons for hours—his dragon, her dragon, completely new species of dragons. And they were _not_ just friends, because how could they be, kissing on occasion, pushing the boundaries of appropriate touch while refusing to label it for what it was?

Astrid sucked gently at his bottom lip. It was titillating skill born of enough practice whenever they both grew weary of stubbornly maintained platonic affection.

She pulled back by the smallest of degrees, whispering against his lips, "You put half of your sheep in my basket—"

"Mmm, did I?"

"—so, even though you caught the black sheep, I still won."

"That's quite an accusation…"

Hiccup smiled, and the corners of her mouth chased it. His hands were on her waist, pulling her lower body as close as her spiked skirt would reasonably allow.

They would have to have a talk about her unnecessary pelvic defense later.

"Maybe I'm wrong?" She shrugged, fingers wandering down to map the expanse of bare skin between the lacings of his tunic. Hiccup swallowed hard, and Astrid's sharp eyes caught the movement. She smirked. "Maybe I really lost count of how many points I scored? Or maybe my boyfriend knows just how much I love to win?"

She pressed her lips to his again with a rare tenderness.

"Boyfriend?" Hiccup mused, quirking a skeptical eyebrow.

The word felt strange, so often a term of mockery by Snotlout and the twins. It was never used seriously, almost like it was some kind of filthy swear. As was 'girlfriend'. Hiccup never said those words, not to Astrid, nor to his friends. Not even to his dad, who was unbearably eager about any potential _something_ between them. Hiccup never wanted to assume or overstep some kind of invisible line, lest Astrid change her mind about her non-aggressive manner of handling him.

But there she was in his arms, fitting against his body in the relaxed, effortless way that always tried his restraint. Only, Astrid had been the one to define it—_him_. Them, finally. It was almost permission. _Almost._

Her tip of her nose brushed against his, playful. "Yeah. I think so," she murmured.

And, come to find out, there was more than one way to win at dragon racing.


	17. Softy

"Well, hello there! You're up early," Astrid murmured.

Hiccup's eyes snapped open in alarm. His pulse quickened to think there was anyone else in his bedroom with them; besides his dragons, anyway. Whatever lingering grogginess he may have felt evaporated instantly, and he bolted upright, drawing the blanket further up his body. He half expected to find his father standing in his doorway with a stern word of parental judgment, undermined by barely contained amusement twinkling in his was nothing quite like a healthy dose of embarrassment to start the day…

But they were, thankfully, alone.

Astrid was standing beside the window, braiding her hair by the thin beams of sunlight peeking in through the shutters. She had been speaking to Sharpshot, who was watching her curiously from the floor. She was humming softly with a subtle swaying of her hip as she twisted her long, blonde strands into a neat plait. Each of her smooth, sensual curves were illuminated in clear relief by the enticing glow of the early morning sunlight. She was unaware Hiccup was staring at her and smiling fondly while she was off in her own little world, thinking whatever thoughts that had her gazing off into space.

She was beautiful—she probably did not realize just how strikingly so. Hiccup, however, found it difficult to see her as anything but the personification of his desires, and a perfect example of the wonderfully feminine. Astrid would likely think he was crazy if she knew how he looked at her, and it would have been a challenge to find anyone else on Berk that might describe her with the same soft and sweet language.

Most of her formative years had been dedicated to building a reputation to the contrary. Even after proving herself just as tough and fearless as any young man on the island, she was still loath to let go of that persona. To everyone else, she was a fierce warrior, incapable of being especially sensitive or delicate, and that was how she wanted to be seen. Around the village, that was the image she promoted for herself; when she and Hiccup were alone together, things were different.

That was not say Astrid was not, well, _Astrid_—but she let her guard down. She behaved in ways no one else ever saw. She confessed to insecurities and surrendered her otherwise unrelenting need for control to him...in certain things. Around him, she allowed herself to be a little more sensitive and approachable; a little more "girly", and what she considered to be imperfect by her more aggressive standards.

But it was in those same moments of vulnerability that Hiccup found her to be most perfect.

Astrid bent down and scooped up Sharphot in her arms, cradling the Terrible Terror to her chest. She continued her distracted humming. It was not a tune Hiccup could readily recognize, but it was soothing to hear regardless.

She embraced his dragon gently and rocked him as she swayed. Sharpshot seemed deeply contented, and it reminded Hiccup of a couple instances where Astrid had cooed to Nadder hatchlings when she thought he was not listening. It might have sounded bizarre, had Hiccup not known such a side of her existed. But, it was the same side of her that braided his hair and offered a loving and encouraging word when he needed it. It was the same side of her that gazed back at him dreamily in the candlelight after they made love. It was the same side of her he imagined would bear their children and hold them protectively to chase away any nightmares.

Astrid was not two different people, but rather there was a part of her that was his, exclusively.

The peaceful and relaxed atmosphere was shattered when she noticed he was watching her with, what he could only assume, was a rather broad and goofy grin on his face. She grew instantly defensive, as she was apt to do when confronted with her more feminine attributes—which was why Hiccup was mindful not to bring them to her attention very often.

"_What?_" she asked, frowning.

"You," he replied, simply.

"Me, what?" she demanded.

"Just…you," he repeated.

She stared back at him, confused and mildly irritated, but the harshness in her tone did not diminish the softness in her that Hiccup just could not overlook. It was there, under the surface, obvious to those who knew how to see it—and as far as he knew, he was the only soul who did.


	18. Gobber's Lament

Gobber's broad grin faded as he considered the puzzled face gazing back at him from across the table. He had anticipated a different reaction. One much more favorable of his peculiar quips.

He swirled the amber drink in his mug, watching the remaining foamy head slosh around. It was something to distract from the sinking feeling growing in his chest.

Not too long ago, his tasteless humor was met with a hearty laugh at best, or an impatient scoff at worst–a frown hidden beneath a substantial red beard. It was fun for him either way, making his best friend laugh, or having a laugh at his expense. He knew how to crack the chief's composure and bring him to chortle from a stony face. He could tease that intimidating man of power, pushing the boundaries just far enough–much further than anyone else could get away with.

Very different from Stoick the Vast in both personality and outlook, there had been a time they clashed. Gobber had been carefree and impetuous–Hel, he was _still _carefree and impetuous–and Stoick had been the very serious, very tense new Chief of Berk. He had been committed to running a well-organized village, micromanaging everything he could to ensure he was a successful leader, and Gobber had been an loud, boisterous obstacle to that goal. They had come to blows, back when Gobber still had another fist to punch with, and the scuffle ended with greater appreciation and mutual respect. It was the Viking way, after all. That night continued on with drinking, and several hours later, a deep friendship had been struck between them. It only evolved from there, each one of them bringing something completely opposite, yet profoundly needed in their dynamic–Gobber brought humor, a listening ear, and a blunt set of opinions, while Stoick brought focus, the harsh realities of the world, and a fierce companionship.

Practically inseparable whenever Stoick had the time–and sometimes when he did not–they became closer still when the chief's young wife had been carried off by a dragon. Gobber had been the shoulder Stoick needed as he grieved–and Thor, did the man grieve…

Being a chief and a single father was challenging, but Stoick did not shy away from his problems. He did the best he could with all of his strengths and shortcomings. Hiccup had not made it easy for the man, either. He displayed many tendencies Valka possessed, coupled with his father's hardheadedness, which had made Stoick uneasy. He feared his odd, diminutive son would suffer a similar, terrible fate as his mother.

Gobber did what he could for those twenty years, being the uncle to Hiccup that Spitelout was not, and the confidante Stoick needed, lest the chief's frustrations crush him. Gobber frequently bridged the severe gap between father and son, particularly when adolescence hit Hiccup hard.

Still, there had been laughter, and Gobber kept Stoick's spirits up, cutting through his dour moods and passing the man a drink when he needed it. Platonic, tough their relationship was, Gobber expected them to grow old together, still chuckling at Chief Hiccup's antics while slapping each other on the back with arthritic hands.

That had been the plan, only a few weeks ago.

He had never anticipated setting Stoick's body on a battered ship, watching with a visceral anguish as it drifted out to sea, burning furiously. It was an inappropriately somber end to an otherwise jovial friendship. A deep pain tore at him, beneath the surface, but he did not pay it enough attention. There was a new chief, and he needed guidance more so than Stoick ever had, and Gobber felt he was doing his duty to his fallen friend by helping his son.

One last favor.

Berk was nearly rebuilt, and the Bewilderbeast ice was gone. A celebratory drink was in order. He had already had a few, listening to Hiccup's concerns in the way he used to do for Stoick. It was a familiar routine, though the young chief struggled with insecurities his father had never expressed.

Gobber was comfortable in his advisory role, and with enough alcohol in his system, he had forgotten who he was speaking to. For a moment, Drago had never returned, and Toothless had never fired the fatal plasma blast–but he glanced across the table into striking green eyes and he remembered.

There was no appreciative chuckle or equally bawdy comeback to his jokes. Instead, there was a furrowed brow and a slight tilt of the head, mulling over his words. There would be no drinking late into the night together, swapping stories and reminiscing. His new chief sought a different kind of company. Gobber was not his closest confidante. He was not as necessary as he had once been. Things had certainly changed.

Gobber felt displaced, both in his own life and in Hiccup's. He had been looking for comfort and scrambling for a new companionship to fill the void Stoick had left. For a moment, he had been delusional enough to think he continue on as though things were the same–best friends with the new chief. He was grasping at hope, but for all the ways Hiccup took after his father, he was very much his own man. There were only traces of Stoick the Vast in him. Gobber could not find that same old , dear friendship with Hiccup. The dynamics were not right. _Nothing_ about what had transpired–how the young chief had assumed his power–was right.

As he stared at Hiccup, realizing both who he was and who he was not, Gobber was overcome by the profound loss of a truly irreplaceable friend. In many ways, a brother. The grief he had been largely suppressing for the past couple of weeks for the new, struggling chief's benefit, rushed to the surface and threatened to pour out like a swollen river overflowing its banks.

His chin quivered as sadness stung his eyes and he glanced down at his drink–always his distraction in more ways than one.

A hand reached out and squeezed his forearm bracingly. It was a reassuring touch by a much smaller hand than he was used to. Hiccup's voice was also too soft for him. Too sympathetic when he murmured, "I'm sorry I'm not my dad."

He shared the sentiment, though he loved the young man dearly. He could not hurt Hiccup by telling him so.

He just nodded with a grunt and took a long swig of his ale, attempting to wash down the lump in his throat.


End file.
